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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27658355">CONFIDENTIALS.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue000jay/pseuds/blue000jay'>blue000jay</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Secure, Contain, Protect [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - SCP Foundation, Mild Injury Descriptions, mild gore?, mild violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:40:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,232</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27658355</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue000jay/pseuds/blue000jay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This experiment has been discontinued -- any attempt by personnel to reinvigorate interest in the subjects will be severely punished.</p><p>(SCP AU, Dream Team Edition!)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Secure, Contain, Protect [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021857</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>760</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Crow Cult's DSMP Favorites</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. transference.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi! so this fic is a bit different style-wise from my previous SCP fic, but i hope it's just as enjoyable :) i wanted to play around with concepts for the dream team, so here we are!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>George’s laugh carries down the hall, his fingers splayed out in a wave as he watches the black head of hair receding from view in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Sapnap!” He calls out, watching the other raise a hand in acknowledgement. “See you in a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Later!” Sapnap’s voice is tinny as he turns the corner, and then he’s gone. George rolls his eyes a bit, already fondly exasperated with his coworker. Transferring had been a terrifying idea, at the beginning, but now that he was actually in the U.S. it wasn’t too terrible. Yes, a lot was different, but a lot was also the same. The good thing about the Foundation, George has found, is that they value their consistency. And the people are strangely nice here, more open to talk to him in their free time and give up their smiles and jokes with more ease than anyone back in the U.K., especially since he was a practical stranger. Nick (or Sapnap, as he preferred to be called for some ungodly reason) had approached him the first day, since their housing units were directly next to each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We’re roommates!” He’d proudly crowed, George’s hesitant and wary look not deterring him one bit. The cold shoulder hadn’t either-- he’d picked up a new friend without trying, it seemed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting down at his desk, George hums quietly, typing in his password to the computer and scanning the incoming emails. It was his morning routine-- wake up, shower, make himself a cup of tea, head to the cafeteria for food, eat with Sapnap, then check his emails and head into the rest of work for the day. He doesn’t have many emails. George knows he’s low-level in the Foundation hierarchy, and he’s okay with that. Yes, he has to work with more dangerous creatures, but that’s fine. He’s good at it. He works here for a reason, after all. George likes the science, and likes keeping people safe by doing the science. It’s fun, sometimes! Even when it’s scary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One email catches his eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a file, hidden under the guise of a reassignment. He’s okay with reassignments. The last SCP he’d been working with had been unbearably boring, a hat that had the ability to make the wearer invisible. Fun, but boring. This one certainly looked more interesting, considering he has to input all of his credentials in order to access it. And on top of that, he’s been promoted. Level C to B just by looking at this SCP file. Interesting, he thinks to himself, scrolling through the document. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Item #:</b>
  <span> SCP - 4185</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Object Class:</b>
  <span> Keter</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Special Containment Procedures: </b>
  <span>SCP - 4185 is contained in Containment Zone 56, Site 9, in the southern U.S. SCP- 4185 must be under constant supervision and restraint. While allowed movement around the antechamber, SCP - 4185 must constantly have padded metal cuffs on their wrists and any furniture is only to be brought in and out of the room with the personnel who is using it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>SCP - 4185’s diet consists of high amounts of carbs, proteins, and other nutrients. Meals will be coordinated with dietary personnel, and delivered once daily. Any requests from SCP - 4185 will be denied, no matter the request due to previous instances of escape and use of objects as weapons.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Description:</b>
  <span> SCP - 4185 is a young American male between the ages of 18 and 20. He has dark blond hair and is 6’2” in height, 82 kilograms in weight. SCP - 4185 wears a circular mask that covers the majority of his face, approximately six inches by six inches. The mask is made of a smooth white ceramic material with a simply smiley face decorated on the front, blocking the view of the subject’s face. The mask is attached to SCP - 4185 by a thick leather band that fits comfortably around his face, and SCP - 4185 has never expressed discomfort in relation to wearing the mask. Attempts to remove it have been unsuccessful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When any organism shows symptoms of the fear response around SCP - 4185 (sweating, trembling, shortness of breath, increased heart rate, butterflies in stomach, etc.) or are physically able to turn around and run away, SCP - 4185’s mask changes into a dark blackish-grey color and the originally black smiley turns orange. When questioned, SCP - 4185 refers to this state as a “nightmare” and his normal state as a “dream.” After the fear response has been noticed by SCP - 4185 and the mask has changed, SCP - 4185 will do everything in his power to terminate the other subject. He has shown a propensity for making weapons out of unconventional objects, and is extremely dangerous and dedicated to the goal of hunting down his prey. As of this report, SCP - 4185 has had a 100% rate of execution with the subjects presented to him, even when restrained or contained beforehand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any and all attempts to communicate with the “nightmare” side of SCP - 4185 have been unsuccessful, and any personnel who have tried have subsequently been terminated by the SCP. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Incident Report 4185-34:</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Date:</b>
  <span> 10/</span>
  <span>█/██</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Location:</b>
  <span> [DATA EXPUNGED]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After finishing an interview session with SCP - 4185, Dr. </span>
  <span>█ went to finish his notes and leave the room. Upon turning his back on SCP - 4185, who was mildly restrained and attached to the table, Dr. █ was attacked by SCP - 4185 who entered his “nightmare” form after seeing Dr. █ turn his back and assumed a fear response. This led to Dr. █ becoming more frightened, and he managed to make it out of the initial interview room and into the hallway. SCP - 4185 took a few moments to break his way out of his restraints, dislocating both his thumbs in the process but was seemingly unaffected by the injuries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the next twenty-three minutes, SCP - 4185 and Dr. █ were involved in a chase around the facility that ended in the brutal gutting of Dr. █. SCP - 4185 was apprehended a few minutes later, after having shifted back into “dream” form, and was brought back to his containment cell. Questioning reveals that while in his “dream” form, SCP - 4185 is upset by the actions his other self took, and that he didn’t want it to happen, but that the other side of him “had fun.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>George leans back in his seat, and whistles slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” he says to himself, reaching out to scroll back up to the top of the document. That’s a dangerous individual to be working with. In the pit of his stomach he can feel a slight twinge of fear, the kind that makes your knees give out and hands shake, but it hasn’t risen all the way up to the top yet. It hasn’t really sunk in yet, the fact that something so dangerous will be in the same room with him later in the day, and that’s probably for the best. This SCP practically feeds on fear, and you can’t be scared if you’re going to be in the same room with him. George is glad for his ability to stay composed all of the sudden, leaning back in his seat and kicking his feet slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You get that reassignment yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice makes him jump, eyes having been trained on his screen and body not tuned into the world around him. The next thing he hears is Sapnap’s laugh and he scowls, whipping around to find the other behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Asshole!” He says, putting a hand to his heart dramatically. “You scared the shit out of me. Why the hell are you in here? You work halfway across the building.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgot something down at the copier,” Sapnap says, leaning forward over George’s shoulder and staring at his computer screen. Which, technically, is very against the rules, so George clicks off of his email before Sapnap can read very far. It’s too late, based on how his smile grows in size and he whaps George’s head. “4185! Holy shit dude, do you know how many people have come out of there on stretchers? Are you not terrified?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George rolls his eyes, propping himself on his desk. “Yes, I’m terrified,” he deadpans. “Terrified of doing a bad job and getting fired. How did you know I was getting reassigned?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t, until I snooped over your shoulder.” Sapnap leans back on his heels, stuffing his hands in his pockets and grinning at him. “Alright, fine, I see your stink eye. I’ll leave you alone. Don’t die today.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t!!” George’s exasperated tone just seems to make Sapnap laugh, and he buries his head on his desk and groans as the other leaves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He might be a little nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s scary, okay! This is a monster that has killed more people than he’s probably ever met in his life, and even if it was mostly D-class personnel that’s a terrifying number. He recalls the instructions from the file-- don’t act scared, don’t feel fear, don’t turn your heel and run-- and settles himself. He’s not scared. He’s nervous, and nervous is different from fear. Even if their symptoms are the same, with shaking fingers and a rock in his stomach. It’s nerves. And he can settle nerves, he’s done it plenty of times. He just shuts his eyes, takes a breath, and then signals for the team of D-class guards to follow him into the interview room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a brilliantly white padded cell, with a steel table in the center that has been bolted to the floor several times over. The chairs have also been attached in some way, and George notes the fact that the guy-- the SCP-- is attached to the table via some very heavy handcuffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those can’t be comfortable,” are the first words out of his mouth, and he can’t help but cringe. So much for a first impression, even if this is a deadly monster sitting right in front of him. He was going to try and be decent, at least. For a second the room is stifling and silent, and then the masked figure in front of him laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George can see a hint of a mouth, lips curling up in the corners as he laughs, high-pitched and wheezing for a moment before he manages to control himself. It’s like a tea kettle, something there’s an abundance of in Britain but severely lacking in the U.S. He raises a brow, setting his notepad down on the table and uncapping his pen as the SCP in front of him takes a breath, still grinning from what George can tell under the mask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, you went straight for the throat,” SCP - 4185 says, and George shrugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tell it like it is,” he replies, leaning back in his seat and tapping the pen across the surface of the steel table. It’s cold, and he presses his hand flat to it for a moment to leave an imprint of his palm, giving himself a moment to gather his thoughts and think about what he’s going to say. “But I guess you’ve earned them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The SCP leans back in his chair a bit, as far as he can with his hands attached to the table. “Nah,” he says, and the silence he leaves after the word is so open and so inviting that George can’t help himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah?” He questions. “What’s that supposed to mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t earned them,” SCP - 4185 says, and he leans forward after a moment and taps his fingers onto the mask on his face. It almost sounds hollow, but that’s ridiculous. There must be a face under there, even if the mask is supposedly stuck on him. “He has.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He?” It’s like an interrogation, and one George is sure SCP - 4185 has had many times over, but he’s curious. “Who’s he?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The one who gets all trigger happy when people turn their backs or get scared,” he explains, leaning back once more. He seems far too at home in this room, restrained, for George to get truly comfortable in the space. But he’s definitely not scared-- this guy seems fine for now, after all. Just a bit odd. “Him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he… not you?” That’s a concept, and George hadn’t read anything in the file about a distinction other than him feeling uncomfortable speaking about the acts he had committed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck no. Absolutely not.” SCP - 4185’s voice is firm, and George decides he’s not going to question him too far, but he still needs to know. That’s the whole thing about his job, is finding out things and knowing them. He leans forward, picking up his pen in his fingers again to scribble a couple things down. It feels both clinical and informal at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I read your file-- some of the things there. It said you got upset when you heard about the things you did,” George begins, focusing on the paper in front of him and jotting down some shorthand. He’s cut off again by the SCP, glancing up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did. Not me.” From behind the mask, George gets the impression that he’s being watched intently. It’s unsettling. Not enough for him to get scared, but he can feel the hair on the back of his neck raise a bit. He decides to turn clinical again in order to keep track of his fear, saying the first thing that comes to mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know what dissociative identity disorder is?” He asks, and it’s definitely not what the SCP had been expecting. He jerks slightly, head tipping to the side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“....sort of?” He sounds hesitant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a disorder in the brain that stems from trauma, usually early childhood.” George sounds smart here and he knows it. It’s very much a front-- he doesn’t feel this smart, after all. “Alternate personalities split off in the brain to help deal with the extreme trauma the person faced. People can have only one alter, or many. Is that sort of what happens?” George asks, because maybe this is a reasonable explanation, although he knows that the stigma against that particular mental illness is rampant. It’s the closest association his mind makes, however.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...nah,” SCP - 4185 says, still hesitant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah? Oh, come on, is that all you’re gonna tell me?” George asks, smiling slightly. He can see the SCP’s lips creep up just under the rim of the mask as well, a small grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“....do you believe in God?” It’s a complete tone shift, 180-ing in the opposite direction. Now George is the hesitant one, pen forgotten in his hand as he leans his elbow on the table slightly. God? He isn’t sure how to respond, so eventually he just tells the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never really got the whole religion thing, no,” he says, although he knows he’s seen things here that nearly prove the existence of a higher power. He doesn’t particularly spend his time thinking about shit like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should think about it more. He says he’s a demon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He. Does he have a name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I call him a nightmare.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so that’s what we’ll call him. Nightmare. What about you?” George tips his head down toward the paper, jotting that note down as a moniker for the demon that’s apparently residing in SCP - 4185’s head. Or a demon-like creature, something that can possess and control the body of the host it’s riding along in. George notes that down, then puts “parasite?” down as well. He realizes that the silence in the room has been going on for much too long at that moment, slowly glancing up and readying himself to flee if he had to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But no. The ceramic is still a pure white, and George is safe. He raises a brow, watching as the SCP in front of him appears to chew on the question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand,” he says, and George gestures lightly to the notepad in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something to call you,” he explains, slowing his voice down a bit. “You have a name, don’t you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t….” SCP - 4185, nameless, struggles for a moment in front of him. He’s clearly thinking hard, mouth twisting in a line below the mask. George waits, patient, and he continues after a second. “I don’t remember.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh. “That’s alright,” George says slowly, tipping his head down to look at the notepad and his own scribbled handwriting. Nightmare. He recalls something from the file, glancing up at him. “You said something in the file about it being a dream, when you’re you. How about that? Dream?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awful thematic,” SCP - 4185 says, but he doesn’t say no. And after another brief second of silence, he nods toward the notepad that George has been writing on. “Fine, put it down. Dream’s good.” Grinning, George does so, an arrow points it’s way towards Dream’s name from his SCP number. It’ll be easier to interview him when he’s more than a number; humanoid SCPs aren’t usually too dangerous, and while Dream may be the exception it might be useful to become comfortable around him. George isn’t frightened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nice to meet you, Dream,” he says after a moment, trying his best to be formal. In response, Dream just wheezes slightly with laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sound like a priss,” he explains, breathless. “With the accent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” George can feel himself getting red, but he shoves it aside and rolls his eyes. “Jackass. I can’t help where I was born, you’re the one getting worked up over an accent. I’m sure you’ve heard worse, here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, definitely.” They stare at each other for a moment, then a timer clicks and George glances down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Time’s up,” he says, moving to shuffle his things together and stand up. He does not turn his back. “Like I said. Nice to meet you, Dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I look forward to our future interrogations,” Dream says sarcastically, drawing out the silence for a moment. “....Harry?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not even close,” George says, but doesn’t offer up his name. It feels manipulative, but it’s probably for the best in case he gets transferred out tomorrow. If not, well, he’ll tell Dream his name tomorrow. Or the day after. He backs up, careful not to turn his back on Dream and instead walks until his back bumps one of the D-class personnel he came in with. A hand guides him sideways until he finds the door, and slips out without turning his back once. Outside, George takes a few breaths, shaky and filled with adrenaline. He allows himself to feel, fingers trembling slightly before he shakes them out and looks over his notes. They’re clean and have obviously garnered some information-- he’d done well, even for his own personal standards, so after taking a moment for himself in the hall, he turns on his heel and heads back down to the labs. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. correspondence.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>From the emails of the Researcher </b>
  <b>█████.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Date:</b>
  <span> 3/█/██</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dr. Haymitch,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hope this email finds you well. I’m writing to you about the case of the subject that was transferred here three weeks ago. Things have been settling well and following your procedures seems to have been the most effective, however with a few slight changes you’ll find in the file I attached to this email. One of our agents, Nick </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>████, has been crucial in keeping the project running. If the time ever comes for the subject to be transferred again, I’m going to recommend we send him along with. As long as things continue going well, I’m sure a promotion is in store. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Since things have been going smoothly, I’m going to initiate phase three of the plan most likely within the next week or so. The Site has been prepared and rigged, and contaminants have been extra secured so that nothing will go wrong. I must admit, it is the first time I’ve ever hosted an experiment of such caliber, and it is quite exciting. I’ll keep you updated daily.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Glowing regards,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>       Dr.  █████</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. resplendence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>idk how to feel about this :)</p><p>tw // there's some mild gore/blood in this, and descriptions of injuries and bodies. be aware!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Things have been going surprisingly well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream has proven to be an interesting experiment, he thinks. As far as he knows, George is the longest-running interviewer of his, and the one with the most success so far in getting information out of him and possibly, even a physical exam this Friday. A physical exam! George has been itching to get his hands on Dream’s mask since the beginning of this whole thing, so it’s going to be exciting to see what he can do. There have been a couple incidents-- a few times where George’s interviews have been postponed and the next day he’d come in to find dried blood on his hands, but he ignores it for the most part. He compartmentalizes-- Dream is his friend, and the Nightmare is the dangerous part. George isn’t scared of Dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s never met Nightmare before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to. He knows it will end in death or serious bodily harm, and he really wants to avoid that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re in the interview room again-- containment cell F-5, the same one they always use. Dream’s still attached to the table and George is not, but it’s alright. Even with his hands restrained he has limited movement of his fingers, so they play Uno. It’s dumb, but it passes the time and keeps their conversations light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you don’t remember?” George places another card on top of the pile, the red 7 staring up at him. Dream flicks his own out, a four.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” Dream says, and George scans the cards in his hands carefully. He doesn’t have any reds or fours, so reluctantly he picks up another card from the pile. “It’s been years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many?” George asks, thinking about it. How many years could it possibly take to forget your own eye color? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno. A couple hundred, probably,” Dream says with such nonchalance that George almost misses how he throws down a red skip card. He forgets the game for a minute, staring at him with wide eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A couple hundred?” He asks, and Dream places down another red four.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uno,” he says, wiggling the single card in his fingers. “Yeah, a couple hundred. I think? I was born in America, but at the very very start of it. I can’t remember a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George places down a +4 card, watching as Dream’s mouth falls from a slight smile into a firm line. He grins. “The very start of America? What, you lived through the Revolutionary War?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“....I can’t remember a lot,” Dream says, and George carefully leans over to hand him four cards from the pile. “Early on it was…. a lot of him. Not me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” George says, and takes that as a cue to drop the subject for the most part. “But you don’t look a day over what, twenty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, thanks,” Dream says, and it’s enough of a flirt for George to scoff slightly and roll his eyes. “I stopped aging.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After the mask?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George opens his mouth, fingers pausing on one of his cards. He wants to know where the mask came from. It’s one of the pieces of information that the Foundation has yet to secure, and it seems important. Where on earth did a young man in the late 1600s find a mask that turned him into a demon? How did it even get to be in America at that point? He’s about to ask something along those lines when the door creaks, and the two agents behind him shift slightly. George, the ever cautious, does not turn around or away from the game at hand. Instead he just tips his head, glancing to the side. To his mild surprise, Sapnap appears. George had sort of been expecting some sort of higher up, not his coworker/friend/terrible roommate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Georgie--” he begins, but he’s cut off halfway through by a wheeze across the table. It echoes in the small chamber and, surprised, George looks over. Dream is clearly grinning below the mask as he sits there, cards dropped from his fingertips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ppffff-- Georgie?” He asks. George can feel his face getting red and resolves to yell at Sapnap later. For now, he just turns to him and grits his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Sapnap,” he says, forcing the polite tone over his words in a way that he knows will indicate that he’s pissed. “What is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need you to come proofread something for me. It’ll be quick, I promise,” Sapnap says. It takes a moment to sink in, but when it does George presses his palm to his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you...seriously asking me now? Are you serious? Can this not wait ten minutes?” He asks, gesturing between himself and Dream. “Like. Are you kidding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, it’s gonna be late in ten minutes. Besides, you’ve already been in here for an hour today, and that’s way past normal interview times.” Sapnap gives him a meaningful look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George, it’s alright. We can finish the game some other time.” George glances over, and he knows Dream doesn’t just mean the game. They’d had a good conversation going, and now he was going to ruin it all because he was a complete pushover and Sapnap was able to do puppy eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he says, sighing and pushing himself up from the table. Sapnap grins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you in a few days, Dream,” George says, gathering up his things and stacking the Uno cards with care. Dream nods, flicking his fingers in a mock wave, what with how he can’t lift them from the table. Sapnap’s already out of the room, having backed out a moment ago, and George is quick to follow. He drops the mildly polite smile once he’s outside, tugging Sapnap down the hall as guards file out of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the--” Sapnap says, clearly alarmed by the sudden tug, and George scowls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was almost done, you prick,” he says, ignoring how Sapnap laughs a little. “You seriously couldn’t wait five more minutes? That was going somewhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know, but come on. You’d been in there forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An hour isn’t forever, Sapnap--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world goes sideways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One moment, George is standing next to Sapnap, the doorway open and the lab empty except for the two of them. The next, he’s on the floor. The tile is cold against his hands as he lets himself fall, hitting the ground with a thump and trying his best not to hit his head. He feels light-- someone’s grasping his arm, shouting something in his direction, but it’s hard to hear over the sound of the ringing in his own ears and the alarm now blaring. It’s the fire alarm, he thinks, the beeping certainly loud enough to be so. Sapnap’s hand digs harder into his upper arm and George blinks, the world zooming back into focus. Everything’s shifted slightly, the dust settling and the mood instantly changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--eorge, George, holy shit, are you alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” He tries to blink the ringing out of his ears. Wait, no, that’s not right. There are stars in his eyes and he blinks those away instead, reaching up to rub at his ears. Sapnap’s voice comes through this time, George processing what he’d said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” He looks worried, crouching beside George, and they both start to move to their feet. A light is flashing above them, and George glances toward it before looking away again and grimacing. Once he’s steady on his feet, Sapnap lets go of his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What-- what was that, what’s--” He turns, glancing down the hallway, but Sapnap hardly gives him a moment to think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think something blew up, we gotta go, it’s a code red, come on, we gotta evacuate--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is something out of containment?” George asks, following, their footsteps echoing over the sound of the alarm. Somewhere else in the building he can hear shouts, the distant voices yelling unintelligible things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know! Come on!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They race down the hall, each footstep bringing them closer to the exit and escape. George’s head is still ringing slightly, but he shoves it down in order to focus on getting out. Every pounding footstep sends a jolt up his spine, wracking his brain with pain that he just keeps pushing back. Ahead of him, Sapnap skids to a halt at a junction, peering down both directions with a confused look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not right,” he says quietly, and George catches up after a second. He catches his breath, resting his hands on his knees, and looking up towards Sapnap with a mildly confused look. What’s not right? Nothing about the hallways has changed-- he knows if they go left, and down a couple more routes, they’ll be safe. Why does Sapnap look so concerned?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George--” he starts to say, and then the alarms shut off. The sudden silence is almost painful, and George glances toward one of the alarms on the wall before looking back at Sapnap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a moment where they’re both staring at each other, confusion written plainly across their faces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second explosion is bigger than the first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George doesn’t just stumble over the tremors in the ground this time, clumsily sending himself to the floor. No, this time he’s physically thrown back by the force of the shockwave, crashing into Sapnap and then the wall. It’s loud, and the ringing in George’s head only gets worse from it. Thankfully they’re in a fairly empty hallway, so no real debris hits them and they’re just thrown to the side as the walls crack and creak and dust flies out of those cracks to settle on the floor of the hall. This explosion they both have to take a minute to recover from, Sapnap bringing his hands up to his ears and grimacing as George steadies them both with a hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something’s wrong,” he shouts, and George winces at the noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No duh!” He calls back, and for a second, neither of them move. Then, Sapnap’s eyes widen slightly, and he points over George’s shoulder. Carefully, George turns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something made out of pure flames seems to be stumbling in their direction down the hall. It’s not huge-- probably about the size of a ten-year-old kid if George had to guess, but he also knows what it is in an instant. One of the SCPs, and one of the more dangerous ones at that. He scrambles to think of what this one entailed, but Sapnap beats him to it.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“6445,” he breathes, and then his hand is around George’s wrist and pulling him back. “Being made of fire. Not really sentient. Seeks out heat signatures. Go go go go,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go go go,” George agrees, and they bolt down the opposite hallway. It’s not the way they need to go, but it’s the way they’re going. Thankfully, they are faster by far than SCP - 6445, and sooner than later Sapnap is tugging George into another lab room. Without hesitation they snag a desk, George pulling as Sapnap pushes, and then it’s blocking the doorway and they’re more secure than they were before, at least. Neither of them breathe as something labors by, the crackling of fire the only clue that the thing was there. George counts to one hundred and twenty in his head before he dares speak again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” He asks, sparing Sapnap a glance. His friend is pale, staring at the door, an unreadable expression on his face. “Sapnap, we need to get out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This wasn’t the plan,” Sapnap says, and George huffs because he’s completely ignoring the fucking problem. Sapnap doesn’t even seem to acknowledge George’s statement, for fuck’s sake. “This wasn’t-- a second explosion? Other SCPs out of containment?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you on about?” George asks, and he knows he sounds snappish but they’re sort of in a life-or-death situation here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t right,” Sapnap says, turning abruptly. George watches him pace, and something… feels off. Something isn’t right. Sapnap’s still pale, still worried, and after a minute he checks the lab number above the door and then goes over to a filing cabinet that’s on its side by a desk. He rifles through it, and George is just left to watch as Sapnap mumbles to himself. “Plan was for a small explosion, nothing big, then find Dream and George and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing? What are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>talking</span>
  </em>
  <span> about?!” He asks, turning to glance at the door again. “Sapnap, we need to leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know, just-- give me a second!” Sapnap throws a hand in the air and flaps it at him, then returns to digging through a mound of paperwork. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George can feel his heart rate increasing slightly. Something’s going on here and he feels out of the loop“Sapnap! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nick</span>
  </em>
  <span>! We have to go, before that thing spreads fire around more and we can’t!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One second, George, just-- fuck! Yes! Okay! Look at this, please.” When he pops up from behind the filing cabinet, Sapnap has a file in his hand. He’s grinning, sort of, but it looks pained. George stares at him, glancing down at the file as he approaches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something tells him he doesn’t want to look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not reading this, Sapnap, what? We have to go--” he tries to say, tries to make an excuse. His stomach rolls, and Sapnap holds it out toward him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George, please,” he pleads, glancing down at the file. The Foundation’s seal stares back at them both. His head aches. Something feels wrong, just looking at it. He’s never had this feeling before. (Has he?) “It’s important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have time for this,” George insists, turning again, but Sapnap reaches out and tugs so aggressively on his shoulder that George nearly topples over. He turns, glaring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Sapnap says, shoving the papers towards him. Something in his voice twinges, and despite the innate fear piling up in his gut George tips his head down, rubbing the smoke out of his eyes to read.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Item #: </b>
  <span>SCP - 7146</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Object Class:</b>
  <span> Safe</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Special Containment Procedures:</b>
  <span> SCP - 7146 is currently contained in Containment Zone 56, Site 9, in the southern U.S after being transferred from [DATA EXPUNGED] in the U.K. As of now, SCP - 7146 resides in the employee sector of the site, and believes he is a member of faculty. Personnel are encouraged to keep up this illusion and maintain it as long as possible-- any attempts to tell SCP - 7146 of his true nature are to be neutralized as soon as possible with the aid of amnesiatics. SCP - 7146 is allowed to roam as he pleases and do tasks as assigned, as well as leave the site as long as he is being accompanied by any other personnel that know of his status. SCP - 7146 is to be constantly monitored.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Description:</b>
  <span> SCP - 7146 is a young British male, age 24, with brown hair and brown eyes. He is 5’9” in height and 68 kilograms in weight. He appears to be a normal human, with all medical and DNA tests coming back as such. SCP - 7146 was discovered in a small town in the U.K. approximately</span>
  <span> █ years ago, and was taken into Foundation company and completed his schooling under Foundation personnel and guidelines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>SCP - 7146 appears to excrete a substance from his hands that has the ability to “normalize” any regular SCPs. The extent of this has not been found. The substance that the subject sweats is colorless, odorless, and appears to be normal except under a microscope where cells have been noted to shift and change shape, color, size, and material when placed in the substance. SCP - 7146 has been able to neutralize a number of other SCPs, including common household objects, humanoids, and animals. Anything that he is able to touch with intent to change has been reduced to its regular state (see addendum 7146-09). Due to the powerful nature of this talent, SCP - 7146 has been given bi-weekly doses of amensiatics to keep him under the illusion that he is a personnel worker with the Foundation, as attempts to indoctrinate otherwise have been unsuccessful. In order to be able to neutralize some of the Foundation’s more dangerous SCPs, it has been advised that SCP - 7146 remain unaware of his power until the last second. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Notes: </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>George is doing well acclimating to the U.S. While his arrival was a little rocky, Agent ███ has proven himself invaluable to his mental state and has kept everything under wraps. Amnesiatics haven’t even been used in the past few weeks as he has settled in and taken to the job well-- we’re moving him to SCP - 4185’s case tomorrow. We’ll see how it goes, and hopefully by the end of the month we’ll be able to transfer him back out and to the U.K. after 4185 has been neutralized. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>        - Dr. Alyssa Kingston</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Addendum 7146-09: Experiment Log (transcription of video footage)</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Subject: SCP - 532, floating mop, aggressive toward any human in the area</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Supervising Researcher: Dr. Beth Moore</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Location: Containment cell B-3, Site 23</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>SCP - 7146 is walked into the room, where SCP - 532 is restrained on a table with leather straps. SCP - 7146 regards SCP - 532 with some hesitation after the broom rattles on the table a good bit. Researchers released SCP - 532, and for four minutes and twenty four seconds SCP - 7146 ducks and weaves to maneuver around the room and not get hit. Over the intercom, SCP - 7146 is told to return SCP - 532 to the straps on the table. After some colorful language, SCP - 7146 manages to grab SCP - 532 around the handle. In an apparent outburst of frustration, he tells the broom to ‘knock it the hell off’ and in that moment, SCP - 532 ceases all motion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After SCP - 7146 returns SCP - 532 to it’s bindings, he is removed from the room and escorted back to his employee station. All attempts to revive SCP - 532 to it’s normal aggressive state have been unsuccessful, and all tests done on the subject have shown no unnatural properties. SCP - 532 has been reduced back to it’s “normal” state-- a broom.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The file feels like a heavy weight in his hands, despite only being one sheet. George takes a minute, re-reading over the beginning section again and then flipping it over, scanning the page like it might lead to something new. Something that he doesn’t understand. Beside him, Sapnap leans against one of the desks, and without looking he knows he’s being watched for a reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t make </span>
  <em>
    <span>sense</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This file-- it’s got to be about someone else. Even if that’s his name in the notes, and the same site he came from in the experiment log. He remembers working with that SCP, even. 532, it had hit him in the face a few times before and then he’d been pulled off the case. He hadn’t done anything to it, that’s ridiculous. His hands feel like they’re burning. He’d been transferred to the U.S. because that’s how the Foundation worked, not because he was a tool. Well, he was a tool, he was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>scientist</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not an SCP. Not one of the anomalies they worked with. It was impossible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George thinks about his mum and dad. He thinks about his last years of college, and a lot of the memory is fuzzy. He’s never had a good memory, he knows that. He forgets things, he’s a dunce sometimes, sure, but he remembers everything important. Like how he’d gotten the job at the Foundation-- he’d…. He’d somehow gotten the job at the Foundation, working for a huge salary despite not even having a university degree. He can’t even remember considering university at this point, and it’s dawning on him that he can’t remember a lot of things that he should be able to. When was the last time he’d spoken to his mum? His dad? He had a cat back in college, didn’t he? What had happened to him? Why can’t he </span>
  <em>
    <span>remember</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George can feel himself sinking into the revelation like a stone cast into a pond, like a boat with a hole and he’s going down, to the cold depths of the ocean floor where light is rare and only monsters reside. Monsters. Like him. Like he thought he wasn’t. He’d been so certain he was normal, just another guy, just another George. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know?” George asks, turning, the paper nearly falling from his lax and shocked fingers. Sapnap winces, glancing down at the words that he’d been so pushy for George to read. “You did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” he confirms, reaching up to itch under his eye. “George, look, I-- it was an assignment, okay? It was an assignment, like any of the ones you were used to, we both were, I didn’t think you’d find out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t think to tell me?” George is so, so upset, and Sapnap’s words just push and make it worse, fanning the flames in his stomach higher. He’d been being used this whole time, and Sapnap had known.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And get myself in trouble?” It’s… a legitimate excuse, but George is still angry. Sapnap’s standing there in front of him, that stupid piece of fabric slipping down from his forehead to just above his eye from how fast he’d run to get them here. George resists the urge to fix it, instead glancing down at the paper in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“....I thought you were my friend, Sapnap--” He starts, but he doesn’t get to finish the sentiment before there are two hands on his shoulders and he’s being pulled into a hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am! I am your friend, holy shit, don’t say that George,” Sapnap breathes, arms locked around his shoulders tightly. “I mean, yeah, at the beginning I thought it was gonna be an assignment, but you’re a person. A whole, realass person. You’re not some machine or entity or something to be studied, okay? You’re my friend. You’ve been my friend for a while now. I knew that this was going to happen, sort of, but now everything’s going wrong and this is not what I was told was gonna happen. I don’t want you to get hurt. Something’s wrong, and we just need to get out.” George opens his mouth to speak, but it’s full of chemically lab coat fabric and Sapnap is rushing forward anyways, not letting him get a chance. “I know you might be mad at me for not telling you and okay, I get it. It’s fine. You deserve to be mad-- everyone was lying to you, of course you deserve to be mad.” Sapnap pulls away then, his hands still on George’s shoulders as he stares him in the eyes and suddenly, he’s wrong. George isn’t really mad anymore. He’s upset, he’s scared, he’s sad, but he’s not.. angry. “But please just let me get us out of here,” he says, and George can see it then, the fear in his eyes as the site burns down around them. “Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George swallows his pride and the sand in his throat, and then nods. “Alright,” he agrees, dropping the file paper and not looking as it floats to the floor, left to be forgotten. “Let’s get out of here, then I’ll be mad at you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good,” Sapnap says, and he sounds both relieved and terrified all at once. They both make their way toward the door that they’d blocked earlier. The sounds and screams are gone now, and George can see smoke leaking in from under the heavy desk they’d shoved in front of it. Both of their eyes narrow slightly. “Shit,” Sapnap says, gnawing on his lip and starting to look around the room. There’s no other exit, and it’s an internal lab-- no windows. The only other room is a testing site, but that will just lock them in. George’s mind is whirling and he steps forward to the door, pressing his hand to the metal. It’s barely warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The sink,” he says, turning and scrambling around in the wreckage of the room. One pair of scissors and a jacket later, he’s got scraps of fabric in his hands. “Sink. I’ll wet these. Then we can try and open the door and run. Quick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap nods, turning to start shoving the desk away from the door while George works on running the makeshift masks under the running water. It’s coming out in spurts-- one of the pipes must have been broken at some point because the pressure is ruined. He manages to get both of them wet and wrings them out slightly, tossing one of the scraps to Sapnap as he makes his way over to the door. The smoke is still coming in, stronger now that the desk is out of the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On the count of three,” Sapnap says, wet fabric held up to his mouth and muffling his voice. His hand rests on the handle of the door. George nods, pressing the cool cloth to his own nose and mouth. It’s suffocating in a nice way, the way the water drips down his neck and chin almost pleasant. What is less pleasant is the smoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One, two, three,” Sapnap mutters, and then the door is open. Smoke is pouring into the room all of the sudden and George ducks, tugging Sapnap down with him as they make their way into the hallway. There’s no visible flames, but the smoke is heavy against the ceiling and creeping down to make their eyes tear up. Stupid fire SCP. Maybe they should’ve looked for goggles too. But it’s far too late for that. Sapnap’s hand clutches his own as they make their way down the hall, George peering around the corner and then whirling back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fire’s that way,” he says, and his throat burns as he does. It’s hard to see Sapnap’s expression in the dark, obscured by fog and tears, but he can hear him mutter something and then his hand is squeezed slightly. Back down the hallway they go, and when they turn the corner this time there’s less fire than the other hall. George avoids a smoldering clipboard on the ground, Sapnap leading them down another route and past an open containment room. The door is half hanging off its hinges, and there’s a smear of blood along the outside. George pointedly ignores it. They make their way past, and more containment rooms come up on either side of the hall. One is entirely filled with smoke, and as they pass, something slams against the window and George’s heart nearly jumps out of his chest. Sapnap swears, and they both rush forward again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is like a fucking horror movie,” George says as they turn another corner, toward another lab and the exit. The smoke is thinning, which settles his nerves slightly, and Sapnap even laughs a bit. He twines their fingers together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry man, I’ll protect you,” he says, and then lowers his voice into a mock-coo. “It’s my job to protect you--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George wiggles his fingers out of Sapnap’s grasp in order to hit him, bouncing his knuckles off of his shoulder lightly and hiding his smile behind the damp cloth. Despite there being less smoke, there’s still enough that they keep them up against their faces. “Shut up,” he insists, hitting him again for good measure. “Let’s just get out, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright,” Sapnap says, snickering under his breath as they creep around another corner. Sapnap glances down, nearly stumbling, and then George’s foot lands in something soft and squishy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost vomits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a close call, really, and he manages to tear his eyes away before anything but the first three bodies register in his mind. Sapnap’s face has gone horrifically pale, and they’re both staring at each other with huge, terrified eyes. Beyond them is a hallway filled with blood and gore, painting the walls and seeping across tile until it lies underfoot. The slight resistance George had felt against his shoe had been… something. He didn’t want to think about it. It’s a mess, and Sapnap holds his gaze for a good long minute as they stand there and take it in. From his periphery, George can make out sickly yellow-ish grey tints to the walls and floors, and dark uniformed bodies lying still. Something else is clearly out of containment, since the bodies aren’t charred by any means. Maybe it would be easier that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Sapnap says. They’re at an impasse. They have to go this way to get out-- George knows the layout by now, and the exit is this way unless they want to brave the flames.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just don’t look?” George asks, and Sapnap winces slightly. Neither of them move, neither of them breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to get out of here,” Sapnap says, and George nods. His fingers tighten around Sapnap’s again and then they turn. George lets himself look for as long as he needs to to find a clear enough path, and then he takes the lead. He keeps his eyes focused on the end of the hallway, using whatever he can make out in his peripheral as a guide, and Sapnap follows behind. They pick their way through the carnage, and George pretends he can’t hear Sapnap’s shaky breath behind him. Sapnap is surely doing the same. It only takes a minute or so to get through the mess, but it’s a minute that feels like an eternity. George is terrified he’s going to slip, going to fall, going to plant his hand in the torn-out gut of a body and pull it out only for there to be so much blood on his hands. His breath stutters a bit whenever his feet land in a particularly slippery patch, but there’s not enough room to avoid it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steps over a limb and then it’s over. The hallway beyond is spotless. He keeps walking, far enough until Sapnap is also out of the wreck and then he stops, letting himself breathe. They stand there for a minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus,” Sapnap says, and George looks over to see him rubbing his eyes. “Fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he says, and he knows he sounds rough but he really can’t help it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Down the hall, someone turns the corner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George immediately is on guard, snapping his head up and catching his eyes on the movement. For a moment he’s thrown for a loop, the color of the sweatshirt in front of him reminding him of the shades on the floor behind, but then he realizes who he’s looking at. He realizes-- and his heart stutters just a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, Sapnap says, “oh, shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream watches them from down the hall, but it’s not Dream, is it? He’s definitely spattered with the same bloody colors from before. His mask is white, yes, but George can see the way his head tips to the side and studies them from afar, like he’s testing the waters. Thankfully, George is entirely relieved in this moment. The mask is white. They’re safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream,” he says, and wiggles his fingers out of Sapnap’s grasp. “There you are, you got out, okay-- the fire was heading towards your hallway, so I was kind of worried--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George--” Sapnap says from behind him, and then all hell breaks loose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream’s head snaps to the side and somehow, George knows his gaze lands on Sapnap. Sapnap, who’s scared and nervous and who’s heart must be beating a thousand miles a minute. It takes a second, but then suddenly, the faint glint of LED lamps in the ceiling are muted and the white mask no longer shines so brilliantly. Instead, light sinks in, and George is staring at the darkened ceramic with shock. Dream-- no, Nightmare takes a step forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George decides to make a mistake. He’s still holding Sapnap’s hand, so it’s easy as pie for him to turn tail and run. They bolt back the way they had come, through the bodies and blood again but this time without paying as much attention. George is sure he steps on something as they run through and Sapnap’s yelling something behind him but he doesn’t care. They need to get out and they need to get out fast, even if the exit is behind Dream. His mind is racing, trying to figure out what to do as he turns a corner and drags Sapnap with him. If they had stayed, it would’ve been a death sentence for the both of them. At least running they have a slight chance, even if when George turns to look Dream is hot on their trail. He’s smiling behind the mask, and even has the audacity to shout George’s name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, George!” It makes his stomach twist, because it’s the same voice he’s been talking to for the past week, but it’s just a little bit different. A little less comforting. “It’s not worth it!” Dream calls out again, but George would beg to differ. He saves his breath, grits his teeth, and makes a sharp right. The smoke is just getting worse as they race down the halls, but his eyes catch on something and he swings himself around. Sapnap’s momentum whirls him through the door and into the open room, George following inches behind. The door slams, and Sapnap’s keycard is already out in his hand as if he’s understood the plan from the moment he’d been thrown toward the door. It swipes over the mechanism just as Dream reaches the glass, slamming into the plastic and metal with a solid thump. The lock beeps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream tries again, ramming his shoulder into the door. George backs away slightly, Sapnap following as they uneasily watch the small window they have into the hallway. There’s three more thumps, then silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he gone?” George asks, breathless from their wild dash down the halls. The damp clothes are forgotten in their clenched hands, and the room is foggy. He rubs at his eyes slightly, and Sapnap tiptoes forward to peer out the window carefully. The view is worse out there, unable really to see in either direction. They both hold their breath for a second, and then Dream reappears in the window without so much as a footstep. Sapnap yelps, scrambling backwards and almost falling, but George catches him by the shoulder and they both stand there, panting heavily. Dream stares at them, and while George tries his best to shove down the terror in his gut but he can’t. It’s physically impossible once the adrenaline’s running, and getting Sapnap to calm down would be a momentous task on it’s own. The mask takes up most of the window. George wonders if Dream is in there at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, a finger comes up and taps on the glass. “I’ll be right back,” Dream says, and he sounds almost amused. “One of those agents will have a keycard in their pockets, I’m sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he’s gone, a smear of something staining the glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to go,” Sapnap’s saying, words tumbling out like a waterfall as he starts to panic. George can easily hear it in his voice. “We need to get the fuck out of here and leave, holy shit, he’s going to murder us, we’re going to die, we’re going to fucking die--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you shut up!” George snaps, turning to face him instead of the door. Sapnap’s head snaps to him, eyes wide and frightened and they stand like that for a second. George sucks in a breath, pursing his lips and glancing around the room. It’s a containment room, empty except for a plastic table. Further inspection reveals no vents, no weapons, nothing at all. They’re stuck in an empty white room as a monster stalks the halls, searching for a way to get them out. Carefully, George approaches the door and looks out the window, craning his neck either way. The hallway </span>
  <em>
    <span>appears</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be empty again, but he knows Dream can’t be far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell are we supposed to do?” Sapnap says, and he’s leaning against the wall, wringing the cloth in his hands anxiously. “We’re going to fucking die, George, unless you can neutralize him somehow--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even know how that works!” George turns, throwing his hands up in the air. “I didn’t even know I could do that until twenty minutes ago!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s an option!” Sapnap says, and George stares down at one of his palms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How would I even get close?” He asks, glancing up again. Sapnap’s staring at his hand as well, eyes narrowed slightly as he thinks. “He’d snap my neck or something before I even figured it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any other ideas?” Sapnap asks, and the sarcastic tone cuts a little too deep. George glares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me a second,” he says, glancing out the door again. The hallway is still empty. George’s mind races. Somewhere down the hall, a fire burns. The other way, a demon rummages through a dead man’s pockets. They have three options, and two of which he can only see ending in a horrific death for the both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George takes out his own keycard and swipes it over the door lock. The light clicks green.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” he says, reaching up to push the cloth against his mouth and nose again. Sapnap opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, then stops, shutting it with a click. It’s covered by cloth within the next moment. George makes sure the hallway is empty before stepping outside, peering either way and then letting Sapnap follow him out. He shuts and re-locks the door-- maybe it will give them an extra second, maybe it won’t. It doesn’t matter, because they’re already moving again and heading back down the labyrinth-like hallways and into the bowels of the site. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There has to be another way out,” George says to him as they jog down a hallway, taking random turns and avoiding what fire they can. Sapnap’s brows furrow slightly as he thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s an emergency exit in Lab 5,” he says after a minute of silence, the only other sounds being their labored breathing, footsteps, and distant crackle of flames. “But that’s probably on fire.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s our best bet,” George says, and Sapnap nods. The next junction they come to, Sapnap takes the lead, and the smoke gets thicker and thicker. At one point they have to stop, kneeling down until they’re near flat with the floor in order to get a proper breath. It chokes and it hurts but Sapnap just grabs George’s hand and they keep going, through the smoke and past a few flames. A few rooms have a soft orange glow emitting from them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap stops, sharp enough for George to run into his back. They’ve been jogging a lot, but there’s been no sign of Dream following them yet except for the occasional shout in the distance-- but even then, George isn’t sure if that’s Dream or other scientists and agents lurking about. Sapnap grimaces ahead of him, then coughs, and George tilts his head close to read the room label. Lab 5. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it’s on fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” George says over the roar of the flames, staring into the room with dismay. He can’t even see the other side with how much is burning. Most of it is paper, burnt and charred pieces scattering the floor, but some of the desks are alight as well. Sapnap glances at him, eyes watery in a way that George is sure he mimics. They stand there for a second. The world is getting smaller around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The sprinklers,” Sapnap says all of the sudden, tearing his eyes away and up. “Why haven’t they gone off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damaged from the explosion?” George suggests, although he’s not sure himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t you manually turn them on?” Sapnap asks, and George helplessly shrugs. He has no idea, and the smoke is making him lightheaded. It’s hard to think like this, and even Sapnap is taking more hesitant steps. After a second, George reaches over and drags him down. If they’re going to sit here, they may as well do it in a place where there’s somewhat less smoke. It’s still suffocating, but it’s just the slightest bit less. Not a bad place to die, he thinks. He says nothing in response to the question, instead staring at Sapnap as the gears slowly turn the other’s head. Without another word, Sapnap crawls forward, more into the burning room, and George grits his teeth and follows. There’s shuffling as they crawl, then Sapnap’s got a heavy piece of something in his hand. George barely has time to register it before Sapnap is chucking it at the ceiling. There’s a thud, but nothing else as it lands somewhere in the room. The heat is immense. Sapnap swears, the sound of the fire crackling over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap finds another chunk of glass-- maybe it had once been a paperweight-- and three things happen in quick succession. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>First, Sapnap throws it after scouring the ceiling. There’s the sound of glass shattering. Second, there’s the sound of something clicking and smashing and breaking, and then water is pouring down around them and soaking George’s clothes in a moment. Thirdly, glass is coming down with the water, landing in their hair and in the folds of their clothes and a piece scratches George’s cheek, sharp enough to draw blood (hot and sticky down his face). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Around them, things sizzle as the fire starts to die down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am a fucking genius,” Sapnap whisper-shouts, peering up and around the room. The smoke is still heavy around them, blocking most of their view, but it’s scattered slightly by the hissing water and just beyond a couple burnt-out desks is a faintly glowing exit sign, although George has to squint to see it through the smoke. George laughs slightly, breathy, and they share a grin. Maybe they weren’t going to die after all. Sapnap’s hair is sticking to his forehead and his face is tinted from the smoke, clothes stained and dirty. He looks fucking rough-- George is certain he looks the same, but they’re both smiling so wide it’s hard to care. Even the file from earlier isn’t weighing too heavily on his mind at this moment. Sapnap turns his head to look over the room, breaking eye contact, and then George sees it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, a shadow emerges in the doorway. Sapnap moves to stand up, holding out a hand out for George to take, not registering the panic in his eyes until it’s too late. They crash to the side, Dream’s laughing echoing in the room as George ducks out of the way, arms in the air to defend himself. He can hear Sapnap shouting, a thud, a yelp of pain. Something sizzles. George rocks to his feet and just ahead of him he can see Sapnap and Dream on the floor, rolling over slightly. The fire is somewhat out by now, the charred remains of paper and desks surrounding them as water rains down around. Panic rises in his gut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream, NO!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George shoves himself past the debris, hopping over one of the burnt shells of a desk and computer, pushing himself to the very limit in order to reach the two figures. Sapnap’s flat on his back, holding an arm up between them and grunting slightly as Dream shoves a jagged piece of metal down, closer and closer to his neck. It’s slow, but the inches are disappearing as Sapnap’s eyes get wider and wider and George can tell he’s scared, the fear feeding into the monster that’s above him and just making him that much stronger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then George arrives, slamming into Dream from the side and knocking all three of them sideways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The impact leaves him breathless, George choking on nothing as he instinctually pushes himself up, feeling something warm and soft under his hands. They landed with him half on top of the other, and now George is hunched over the shape and trying to regain his breath. Dream, he knows, and he reaches out to try and knock his hands away before he can do anything. He wouldn’t-- George isn’t scared-- is he? He can’t tell with everything swirled inside, emotions already running high and adrenaline roaring. Whatever he’s feeling doesn’t matter, because Dream’s already looking up at him with that stupid orange smiley face and George knows it’s not really him, it’s whatever monster lies in the mask and comes out whenever it senses a physical change in the bodies around it. Next to them he can hear Sapnap coughing and shuffling around, but it doesn’t matter, because something very sharp and very painful is sticking out of his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks, glancing down at the piece of metal and Dream’s bloody hand, twisting the makeshift weapon in deeper to his abdomen. “Oh,” he says out loud, as what he needs to do dawns on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers are shaking as he reaches out, grasping the edges of Dream’s mask. For a second, something flits at his fingertips, warming and searing his fingerprints until they burn right off. It hurts, but he pushes past the defense the mask is trying to put up and slips his hands around. The pain in his side is increasing and he can hear Sapnap screaming behind him, voice high-pitched and frightened and if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do this now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, imperceptibly, the leather strap holding the mask to Dream’s face snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George lifts the ceramic from his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pressure on his abdomen stops, and George stares down at the face that’s now laid bare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your eyes are green,” he tells Dream, watches as his eyes go wide and he lifts bloody hands to the space on his face where he can surely now feel the hot air on his cheeks. Dream has freckles, he thinks to himself, but when he opens his mouth to say it, nothing comes out except a weak little cough. That can’t be good, George decides, shifting slightly to the side and tuning out whatever Dream is saying in response. Sapnap is shouting from beside him, and he can feel another set of hands on him and gently shifting him off of Dream, to the ground that’s hard and cold. His eyes are still trained on Dream’s face-- the face that’s now out there for anyone in the world to see. When he looks and tries to find the mask, he’s surprised to find it’s still in his hands. Pure white again, that accursed smiley staring at him like it’s taunting him, mocking him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pain in his side is suddenly intense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-tay awake, George, you have to stay awake.” Someone is pleading with him to stay awake, but it can’t be Dream, because Dream is right there and his mouth isn’t moving. His eyes are a glorious shade of green. His eyes are so heavy, the pain in his side spreading out and making his whole body numb. It’s like a fire, like a disease, ravaging his body, and he wants to give in so badly to the call of sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, I didn’t-- I’m so sorry--” Dream’s mouth is moving now, and George blinks the fuzziness from his vision for a moment to get a better look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look better without the mask off,” he says, and he can hear himself saying it but the words feel like they’re miles away, hanging in the air and heavy between them. There’s a sharp pain in his side, then Sapnap shouts something and the world goes dark for good. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a woman in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks it’s a woman. She’s made of bright white light, impossible to look at head-on. Whatever she is, she’s beyond George’s paygrade. He knows he shouldn’t be here, and based on the scathing look she’s giving him, she knows it too. Light drips over her shoulder as she bends down to meet him, taking the cold weight from his hands and turning it over in her own. Dream’s mask is staring at him, the smile unflinching even now in this wasteland. The woman (is she a woman?) turns it over in her hands, fingers quietly ghosting over the smile and then, with one pass of her hands, it disappears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been looking for that for a long time,” she says, and her voice is everywhere and nowhere at once. George can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from, but his hands are burning and when he looks down at them, they’re on fire. He doesn’t panic like he thinks he should. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” He asks, but it’s too late for that to be answered, he thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone stole that little demon away from me many years ago,” is the answer George receives. It’s not the answer to his question, but maybe it’s the answer to </span>
  <em>
    <span>a</span>
  </em>
  <span> question? He doesn’t understand, and the light is getting brighter and brighter. She’s-- he’s-- it’s not in the shape of a woman anymore. Instead, it’s everywhere. Her voice is everywhere, reverberating in his bones and echoing along his nerves, tracing his shape with the gentle care only a mother can show a newborn. Stardust trickles down his spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wake up,” she says into his ear, and he does.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s still bright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hospital lights stare back at him from the ceiling, sharp LEDs making him wince and blink at the sudden influx of light. He wishes they were off-- it’s hurting his eyes so instead of forcing himself to keep them open, he shuts them again. The dark is merciful and quietly, George takes stock of himself. His arms and hands feel heavy, and he’s in a bed. Everything hurts, but his side the most. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Someone’s speaking, and it takes George a moment to register that the voice is not speaking to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hiya.” Sapnap sounds tired. Scratch that, he sounds exhausted. George can only imagine, since they had to escape a burning building and get Dream, and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. Dream. The mask. He’d taken it off, he’d done whatever his purpose was. He’d normalized it. Normalized him. He’d saved Sapnap and gotten stabbed in the middle of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beyond him, the voices continue. “Is he awake yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope. Still quiet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uuuugh, it’s been two days. I’m so tired of waiting. Why hasn’t he woken up? Do you think they’re keeping him asleep? Should we get you to do your intimidation thing again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t want to. Once was enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was kinda funny--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George opens his eyes again, head tipping to the side so he doesn’t have to look at the ceiling lights directly again. They’re too bright and even now, with his gaze tipped to the side, it’s still a little too bright. Across from him are two shapes, fuzzy but steadily growing clearer as he blinks. There’s Sapnap, hair pulled into a tiny ponytail at the back of his head and a cardboard cup in between fidgety fingers. Next to him, in another pale grey plastic chair, is a man with dirty blond hair and green eyes and freckles. In the same moment they turn their heads, both noticing him at the same time George is carefully studying them. Sapnap grins-- the mystery man does as well, and suddenly George knows who he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream?” He asks, ignoring how Sapnap’s flailing around in an attempt to set his cup down so he can get up. He can’t ignore it after he succeeds and practically throws himself at George, wrapping his arms around him and burying George’s face and eyes into his shoulder. Faintly, something aches, but he really can’t complain, bringing his arms limply up to hug back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re okay,” Sapnap says into his hair, and if he sounds like he’s crying, well. George won’t say anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Sapnap lets go of George enough for him to swallow and try to get his bearings again. The room they’re in is very clearly a hospital, although no nurses have come in and the hallway outside seems void of too much hubbub. A Foundation site, then. Dream hasn’t moved from his plastic chair, fingers twisting in his lap and a piss-yellow sweatshirt serving as another fiddle toy. His hands seem to be constantly moving, George finds, and then there’s the matter of his own hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he lifts them up to look, they’re bandaged up pretty heavily and he’s unable to move his fingers at all. When he asks, Sapnap says something about a burn and Dream is silent. They’re all a bit rough from the smoke inhalation. His abdomen is more explainable than his hands-- he can remember the piece of metal, sharp and jagged in his side, and the smiley face underneath him that was unforgiving and cruel. It’s gone now, however, and Dream apologizes twenty times over when he shifts a bit and has to grit his teeth in pain. George reassures him easily. He knows it’s not his fault, because technically it’s not any of their faults. If anything, it’s the stupid fucking Foundation’s fault. It’s the Foundation’s fault for lying to them all, and especially George. He’s still reeling from the file Sapnap had shown him before everything had truly gone to shit, and their conversation now brings a little more light to the situation. Dream had also been in the dark on that one, and it’s… an interesting conversation to say the least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait wait wait wait,” he says, holding a hand up with his palm out. “Hold on. You’re telling me George was also an SCP? And you were assigned to him, Sapnap?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I mean, yeah. That’s the jist of it,” Sapnap mutters, and George hides a smile at the way he rolls his eyes. “Kind of just explained it to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up!” Dream sounds both astonished and delighted. “Dude! What was your thing? Why didn’t you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They erased my memories, I guess,” George says, glancing down at his hands. “I’m able to cancel out certain anomalies, or whatever. Something about my hands, and…. secretion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That hangs in the air for a moment, then Dream’s bent over in his chair and wheezing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you say it like that?!?” He asks between laughs, sucking in a breath only to laugh harder. Sapnap’s giggling from his seat on the end of George’s bed, and George is trying so hard to not laugh along with them. It’s incredibly difficult, and he knows he ends up smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was-- I was trying to remember what the file said! I swear! It’s what it said!” He explains, pressing his lips together and bringing his bandaged hands up, pressing them against his face. “Oh my god, Dream, it wasn’t that funny.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was!” Dream drags the words out, then breaks into another fit of laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Secretion</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Sapnap says, in the most horrible imitation of his accent. There’s a tea kettle noise from Dream’s direction, and this time George can’t resist, joining in with the giggles until they’ve all run out of breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is ridiculous,” George tells them both, grinning widely and glancing toward the door, then Sapnap, then back to Dream. He’s so exhausted at this moment, but he desperately wants to stay awake and talk with them, catch up, make sure they’re all alright. He still has no idea where they are. He still hurts, his side aching more and more with every breathless laugh that escapes him, but it’s so worth it. “That’s the jist of it. I canceled you out, when I took the mask off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Dream lifts his hand to his face, dragging his fingers down his cheek again, and blinks. He’s so much more expressive, George realizes, when there’s no ceramic covering his face and eyes. Right now he looks shocked at the fact he has a face, which isn’t surprising. He’d had it on for so long, it must be hard to adjust to being able to see properly again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you adjusting okay?” George asks, and Dream nods subtly, lifting his eyes and glancing at Sapnap. He looks between them, making a face as he realizes what’s going on. “Have you two become best friends without me?” He asks, suddenly feeling very, very left out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awwww, Georgie,” Sapnap cooes, leaning forward and flopping down across George’s legs. He’s too tired to kick him off, so he allows it for now. “Afraid we’re gonna replace you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George scoffs. “As if,” he says, trying to hide the pang of fear he’d just had anyways, tipping his head back against the plastic bed frame and shutting his eyes. For a minute or two there’s silence, then the weight of Sapnap slips off his legs and disappears. George is so, so tired. He can’t open his eyes really, even if he wanted to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” Someone asks, and he thinks it might be Dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he mutters, quietly. “Tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone says something-- it might be a goodnight, because George is already asleep once more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes time to heal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all do. Sapnap and him talk at length about George’s placement with him, about the assignment, about what he thought about the Foundation. There’s a lot there, packed into the sleepy talk one morning as Dream dozes beside them, as they keep quiet so they don’t wake him. George isn’t mad at him at all, although trust will have to come later once they’ve both figured things out again. Dream is… normal. For the most part. George has apparently gotten rid of the evil thing in his brain, but there’s still some anomaly left to him. Whether or not it’s just leftovers from the effect of the mask or George’s ability not working all the way when he was injured is up for debate, but either way, Dream is incredibly agile and quick, and still has that sharp wit that made him deadly when it came down to the line. He’s adjusting to not having a voice in the back of his mind all the time, of course, but that’s the easy part. The hard part is reflecting on the bad things he did while under the mask, one action of which includes stabbing George. He apologizes a million times in the short time they’re in the hospital, and even more so afterwards when they’re on the run.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Foundation is a fickle company, and they don’t approve of things not going their way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream apologizes in motels, in hostels, in dingy rental vans in the middle of the night. He apologizes on an airplane, on a boat, in the middle of Fitzroy Square in London, and under the stars as they sit on a roof in Paris with Sapnap taking a drunken nap beside them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Running is a difficult thing, they find out. But they’re good at it, and the Foundation’s patience is thin and their personnel spread even thinner over the world. Eventually, the agents stop coming after them. Eventually, George is left only with a small puckered scar on his right side, and it only really hurts when it’s about to thunderstorm. His hands seem normal, albeit he’s missing a few fingerprints, and he hasn’t tested his ability at all since they left. He doesn’t want to. It doesn’t define him-- they are all more than numbers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things settle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They live.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>my twt is @toobbo_ ! come say hi (: </p><p>also, check out the other fic in this series, classifieds! its SBI SCPs!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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